


what's so great (about Jeffrey Mace)?

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Best Friends, But not the gross kind of jealousy, Coulson being a dork, Coulson getting flustered when Daisy flirts with him, Coulson is romantic, Coulson missing Daisy, Coulson's record player, Drinking, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gyms, Humor, Inhumans (Marvel), Insecurity, Intoxication, Jealousy, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Male-Female Friendship, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Romance, Sexual Content, Shopping, Slow Dancing, Sokovia Accords, Sparring, Unreliable Narrator, bisexual Coulson, callbacks, trying on clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Coulson finds Daisy and the Director spending more time together in public relations, and has a twinge of jealousy. #jcexchange hits prompts: unreliable narrator Coulson and ...Coulson is feeling a little uncharacteristically insecure about being just a puny human





	1. On the Mats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson looks for Daisy, but she's not alone.

He pulled her into the limelight with him.

Which is right where she's always belonged, of course.

The thing about Daisy is that she deserves to be shared.

Her ideas, her compassion. Strength. Brilliance. _He could go on._

It's just he thought that staying in the dark wouldn't be so much in the dark?

And since he's admittedly using any excuse to get in front of her, he finds himself headed to the gym early in the morning.  
  
Daisy usually keeps to herself here, focuses on her training routine. It's her meditation.

But at least she'll be alone.

Except, when it turns out, she's not alone.

He can hear it before he even walks through the door.

The murmur of the cheerful, warm voice. Followed by grunting.

And then he looks up at them, together, interrupting their sparring session.

Dammit. They're beautiful.

"Phil," Mace manages, a little out of breath, and shirtless.  Why? "I'm definitely impressed."

"What?" he replies, looking up to meet his eyes, managing to find his voice.

"Daisy," Mace says, oblivious, pointing over at Daisy. "I can see why you were so sad to lose her."

He tries really hard not to roll his eyes, and trains them on Daisy instead.

Daisy, a little out of breath. Quiet and sort of glistening with intensity and also sweat. Her shoulders are still tense and she looks small with Mace standing next to her, but powerful.

He can't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

"How can we help you, Phil?" Mace asks genially, slapping him on the shoulder, watching them look at each other, while he reaches for a nearby towel on a hook.

"I just came by-" he starts, lifting the pad in his hand, trying to think on his feet.

"I asked him to come," Daisy says, interrupting, acting confident and stepping forward to take the pad from him.

He's not sure why she's lying for him, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

She taps it on and looks through the images, concentrating as she pushes the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her cheek.

"Cat pictures, Agent?" she says, deadpan. "I never would've guessed."

"Really?" Mace asks, holding back a laugh as Coulson's eyebrows come together in a knot.

"No," Daisy shakes her head at Mace's gullibility, then turns the tablet to him, holding it up.  The app they share that tracks Watchdog movements.

"He's updating me on Watchdog activity," she breathes out.

"Right," Mace says with a sigh, then looks over at Coulson, before he pulls on his t-shirt.

"Hey," Daisy says quietly, making him focus on her again.

Why is she barely hiding a smile?

She probably needs a towel, he can see the bead of sweat that's moved in a trickle along her temple.

"See you later, Agent?" Mace asks her pushing in between them, as he heads out the door. "We'll talk Inhuman stuff."

"Yeah," Daisy calls after him, as he watches him go.

"Sparring with the Director, huh?"

"Yup," she says, flipping off the tablet and handing it back to him.

He finally can't help himself, and he reaches for a towel and hands it to her.

Their fingers touch for just a brief moment, and he lets his eyes steal a glance of her.

"You know," she begins, as she starts slowly toweling her hair. "You could always give it a shot."

"A shot?" he asks, tucking the tablet under his arm. And swallowing. Hard.

"On the mats," she says slowly, tilting her head to one side.

Of course she's teasing him. What is he going to teach her at this point? She's been trained by May. She can clearly hold her own against Mace.

"I'm not an Inhuman. Guy," he points out.

"I'm sure you've got a few tricks up your sleeve," she says, walking past him.

"Well, yes, literally," he agrees, lifting his prosthetic hand and flexing his fingers.

"That's not what I meant," she says, turning to wrap her fingers around his, stilling them.

While he forgets to breathe. When did this become so challenging? Talking.

What does she mean? Exactly?

"Can you feel that?" she asks instead, curious as she trails her fingers along his palm.

He nods, because he can feel it, but also because he's opened his mouth, and nothing is coming out.

"And you don't have to make an excuse," she goes on, dropping her hand. "If you want to-"

"You've been busy," he interrupts, handing her one of the bottles of water on the shelf. "With Mace."

"I'm sorry. I'll have to find a way to fit in some _you_ time," she promises, taking it from him. At least, it sounds promising.

"Me time?" he asks, with a raise of his eyebrows, pointing at his chest.

"Yes," she says, starting to chuckle, as she takes a drink, while he looks away, trying to not make a complete fool of himself.

"Okay."

He hears her walk to the door, then sees her waving a goodbye with a wiggle of her fingers, as she drinks from the bottle.

"Soon?" he calls out.

But she's turned the corner and she's gone.

He's been talking to the door.

_Dammit._


	2. Something Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson is tormented by visions of Daisy at a gala.

"A gala?"

"Yes," she repeats, flipping through the rack of dresses.

He supposes this does qualify as her giving him _you_ time, although helping her shop for an evening dress to wear with Mace to a fancy party wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

Mace is going to wear a tux, and it's going to fit perfectly, no doubt.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stares along the rows of dresses.

When was the last time he even thought about buying a suit? She hands him a dress, satiny cream, and he slides it over his arm.

And why does she want _him_ to help her pick out a dress?

"You've been to these things," she says assuredly, like she's read him, lifting out a black, floor length number and holding it up against him with one hand while she checks out the details with the other. "And unlike May, you don't hate them."

Then why not Elena, or Simmons?

"And YoYo hates dresses, _hates_ them," she reiterates, slipping the dress back on the rack. "So she's no help."

Ah, that explains that.

"And the last thing I want," she says, moving along the rack until her hand lands on a red one. "Is Mace picking out my clothes."

Yes, he agrees. That would be terrible. Just awful, really.

"That's very red," he says, quietly, as she pulls it out.

"Like Lola," she replies, a little lilt of thrill in her voice, and he swears her eyes sparkle just a bit as she bites her lower lip.

Dammit. He can't help it.

His mind pulls up an image of her in a red dress, not unlike this one, and him standing in front of her, offering her his hand to dance.

She takes it, and smiles at him, and then they reach the dance floor while the music starts up, everyone else fading into the background. Just the two of-

"Hey," she interrupts, as he sighs and glances back up at her. "Earth to Coulson."

"Copy that," he answers, dryly, and puts the red dress over his arm to hold it for her.

It would probably make her laugh, and she'd call him old-fashioned, if she knew he was thinking such things.

"I'll do my best to make you proud," she tells him, patting him on the shoulder, as she turns towards the dressing room. "I'll try to be charming."

Daisy doesn't have to try to be charming. "Just be yourself," he tells her, following after with his arm of dresses.

She pulls back the curtain to the dressing room, then pulls it again after her. "Are you always yourself at those things?" she calls back to him.

No, no he isn't. But he's not _her_. She doesn't have to try to be _more_. To anyone. Certainly not a bunch of government officials who support the Sokovia Accords.

"No. I guess not," he admits, hanging up the dresses on the empty rack, so they won't wrinkle.

The guy minding the shop seemed put off enough by them that he's kept his distance. They might look at bit strange, from the outside in.

Kind of a hard thing to put your finger on, driven home by the fact that he's now handing her a bright red dress, the same shade as Lola, through the part in the curtain.

He could sure use a drink right now.

She shuffles inside the dressing room, as he stands and looks at the three way mirror and his own reflection.

This is the sort of thing he used to do, he tells himself. When he was a bureaucrat in a nice suit. It's not who he is now. Not even who he wants to be. But-

He sees her reflection first, when she draws the curtain aside and looks a little unsure, stepping out in front of the mirror.

It doesn't look like Daisy, in a way. At least at first. The high neckline and cutout shoulders, and the very open back as she turns to look over her shoulder.

The way the seams are cut along the front follow curves, as she smoothes her hands over them. She's right, there's something that reminds him of Lola in it.

"And just in case," she says, kicking her leg out of the thigh-high slit like something from a spy movie. "Because you never know."

He smiles at that while a little something inside him twists. He loves Daisy. And she gets to be this version of Daisy, with Mace.

They'll look stunning together, really.

"You look stunning," he says to her, looking away. "Do you even want to try another one on?"

"Not really," she grins, agreeing, and twists to pull at the price tag at the top of the back of the dress.  He can hear it in her voice, how pleased she seems.  She doesn't like to waste time on stuff like this, he imagines.

He moves forward to help her reach it, and she stills as she takes the tag from him and glances at it, and smiles wider that it's on sale.

It wouldn't matter to him what it cost.  She should have it, she's in love. It's obvious.

"But I do need some shoes, right?" she blinks up at him.

She lifts the hem of the dress and he looks down at her bare feet, at her black-painted toes. Then they both look together at the combat boots on the floor of the dressing room.  Just as a strand of her hair brushes against his cheek.

 _Oh no._ This is going to kill him.

"Champagne?" the shop guy says, again, suddenly appearing with two flutes, like he's trying to make up his absence to them, as they step apart, and Daisy makes her way back into the dressing room.

"Yes!" he says, gratefully, taking one from him and downing it, immediately.

Then he takes the other from him and holds it tightly.

"We're looking for shoes," he tells the man, with a forced smile, watching him recoil a little.

"Surprise me!" Daisy says, raising her voice over the top of the curtain. "You know what size I wear, right?"

Yes, of course he knows what size she wears, he thinks, as he briefly shuts his eyes.

"Should I bring the whole bottle?" the shop guy asks in a low voice, without irony, as he leads him towards the shoes.

"Yes," he replies immediately, nodding gratefully.


	3. It Could Be...Nicer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson falls asleep on NYE and wakes up to Daisy.

He watches the press coverage.

Back at the base, then alone in his quarters on the Z-1.

The team had started to watch it all together in the common room, then went their separate ways after awhile. Maybe when, for the 10th time, someone asked Daisy who she was wearing?

Don't they know that she can rip continents in half if she wanted to? But she doesn't want to do that.

Because, it's Daisy.

And also, because it's New Years. He forgot it was New Years.

He takes another lonely, lonely sip of his scotch, and asks himself why he's doing this.

Even though he knows why.

Because, it's Daisy. And someone needs to be a witness to this. What she's trying to accomplish by just being there. To show people that Inhumans are great, to face the people who signed the Sokovia Accords, and make them look her in the eye.

It's so great.

 _Daisy._ Is great.

Mace goes on a bit, talking about SHIELD and reading from his marketing bible, almost word-for-word, really, while Daisy wanders out of the camera frame, to talk to someone just out of the shot.

Of course his tux fits perfectly, why wouldn't it? The camera just loves his face.

The reporters are eating him up, asking him about policy and if being Inhuman has changed the way he looks at things.

It sends him sailing on a wave of boredom and nostalgia, and he gets up off his bed, opening up his closet. He pulls out one of his dark suits and runs his hands over the fine wool fabric.

It should still fit, he's back in the field again. Working out.

He slips the jacket off the hangar, and slides one arm through it, then another.

It's a little tight in the arms, but then no one tells Mace his suits are too tight.

"Quake! Quake!" he hears on the broadcast feed. "Can I call you that?"

"Sure," Daisy says with a smile, stopping for the camera. Like someone might actually ask her something interesting. "I don't mind."

"Can you tell us who you're wearing tonight?"

He huffs and rolls his eyes, then sees Daisy just stare at the reporter, a little open-mouthed.

"I don't know," she shrugs, dropping the façade. "It was on sale. But I had a great time shopping for it."

That makes his heart do a little flip. In a way he didn't expect.

"The dress was kind of an afterthought," she goes on. "I came here tonight to talk about Inhuman rights and the Sokovia Accords."

The reporter just stands there with a big smile plastered on his face, not sure what to say.

It's great.

 _She's_ great.

The best.

 

##

 

  
He feels the light touch and someone there, in the room with him.

A presence, not an intrusion.

"You awake?"

"Yeah." He groans and stirs a little, then takes a deep breath against the light, running a hand down the front of his shirt to make sure he's dressed appropriately.

"How was your gala?" he says, all rumbly with sleep. He dozed off, he realizes, as she closes the laptop on its side where the bed meets the wall, making the room quiet.

Still a little fuzzy from the scotch earlier, he waits until she moves to the side to give him room to sit up on the mattress.

" _Terrible_ ," she says dramatically, then shoulders slouching, she sighs. "I survived."

"That bad?" he continues. She looks suspiciously like she might've had fun, though. What time is it?

" _Dreadful_ ," she lies, and he thinks she could be a little tipsy. "I kept thinking how it could've been nicer."

"You'll get used to it," he tells her, that feeling of fondness immediately rising to the surface again.

"Why are you wearing your suit jacket?" she asks, all animated, then calmly scratches the side of her nose.

He notices that embarrassing fact, pressing his chin to his chest to look, and laughs uncomfortably.

"Nostalgia, I guess?"

They both turn in the same direction when a buzzing intrusion starts. Daisy licks her lips and then reaches for her clutch where she left it on the nightstand.

The noise stops when she finally taps the sat phone inside.

He furrows his brows a little, waiting.

"Mace is probably looking for me," she explains. _Eyeroll_. "I skipped out early."

"He'll live. I'm all out of champagne," he jokes. "But there's still some scotch if you want it."

"Sure," she says, a curious sort of smile in her voice, as she moves to the shelf where his empty glass and the scotch rest.

He realizes that it's the first time she's been in here, even though it doesn't feel like it at the moment.

She pours herself a glass and then sits back down next to him.

"I didn't have even one decent dance all night," she complains, as she bends to slip off the black velvet strappy platform shoes.

"What?!" he exclaims, like she must be joking.

How dare they.

He stands up off the bed and moves to the spot where his record player is tucked away on a shelf, dusts it off, and picks a record, flips it to show it to her, as she gives him an approving nod and takes a sip.

He puts it on. Slow jazz with horns playing.

"Miss Quake," he asks, turning, offering her his hand.

She takes another quick sip then sets the glass down and rises with a huge smile to slips into his arms.

"That's better," she says, once they find a rhythm together, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. "Nicer."

Not that he can imagine anything _nicer_ than Daisy, but he's happy to help.

He's happy.

Then the beeping starts again, as she lets go of him and moves to the nightstand and pulls out the sat phone.

"Mace?" he asks, with a sigh.

"No, it's midnight," she smiles privately, shutting the phone off entirely, and tossing it back down on the nightstand, carelessly.

He glances down at it, then back up at her, feeling his face get hot.

There's no way she came back here just for-

"Happy New Year, Agent Coulson," she tells him, settling back into his arms.

"Don't act so surprised," she goes on, as she starts to move them again to the music.

He decides it's best if he lets her lead.

"Is this your idea of _me_ time?" he asks, trying to not sound too doubtful.

" _You_ time," she corrects.

"That's what I meant."


	4. Really, Daisy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy and Phil stop dancing.

They definitely have different ideas about _me_ time.

 _You_ time.

Whatever.

Suddenly he's not so worried about being in the dark, if this is what it's like.

Seeing her laugh and smile like this makes him forget all of that.

He understands. Her wanting a place to come home to. And he always wanted to be a part of that. To give her that, in any way he could.

Even though he's an agent now, he's not even Director. There was nothing he could do about the Sokovia Accords as Director.

She laughs again and stops leading him in a circle around the tight space of his quarters in a clumsy dance when the record ends.

"Is this where I dip you?" she asks, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Sure," he says, delighted. "If you want to."

So she goes for it, without hesitation, carefully leaning him back, holding onto his prosthetic hand.

Without her shoes on, he's taller than her. He trusts her, though.

She starts to stumble a bit, her leg stretching out from the long slit in her dress, then pulls him quickly up again before they tumble over. Pulling him closer to her by the lapel of his suit to balance them.

"Kiss me," she tells him plainly. Like it's an order.

He's never hesitated before when it's come to anything she wants. He doesn't think he has. Except maybe once. When he hid from her, because he thought he might drag her down with him, because of the GH drug. That he gave to her.

Then as he watches her face start to fall, he stops thinking about himself, and instead thinks about how much it took for her to ask for this.

So, he kisses her, pulling her closer to him, slipping his hand along the bare skin of her back where the dress ends, his palm spread against her as his fingertips tenderly press into her.

He kisses her the way he thinks she deserves to be kissed.

Gathering up her face in his hands, letting them slip through her hair, seeking out the warmth of her mouth, his face following the contours of hers. Their lips part, while his fingers touch her neck, her shoulders, then they meet again.

And he pulls away, just to be certain, but she pushes up on her toes, and joins them again, her tongue teasing against his bottom lip.

He moans right into her mouth and he's instantly out of breath, desire spilling out of him like a dam that's been broken.

"You love me," she states, but it sounds like a question. Surely, she has to know.

He loves her.

"Yes."

She kisses him again, moving them both towards the wall behind him, sliding her tongue against his, now that his mouth is open, and her hands are on him, fussing over his jacket, stripping it off his arms.

"Yes," he repeats again, as he pulls the damn jacket off the rest of the way and tosses it to the floor, feeling her leg lift towards him through the slit in that beautiful red dress that he has every intention of taking off of her now.

Her body moves against his, locking them together briefly, intentionally, and she groans at the feeling of his hard-on against her, digs her lips into his neck as he lifts his chin to let her-

"F-"

Stopping short of cursing, he stares down to see her hand against the front of his jeans, feeling him out through them.

"Is that too-"

"No," he tells her, putting his hand over hers pressing them together against him. "Okay, maybe," he admits, looking at their fingers joined.

She steps backwards, towards his bed, taking her hand away from his, while he watches every movement, then starts to follow after her.

When they're standing together again, he kisses her cheek, and then moves down slowly, to get to his knees, holding onto her hip to balance himself.

"Really, Phil?" she asks with a bit of surprise, as he stares up at her, slipping his hand inside the slit of her dress, running his fingers higher, until his thumb his digging into her thigh.

He looks up at her with a smirk.

"Really, Daisy."


	5. My Favorite Place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and the end of the beginning.

There's that buzzing noise again.

There have been times in his life where he's liked waking up to that noise.

This is not one of them.

"I turned on the sat phone," she admits, reaching across him, squinting at the bright light on the display.

"Why?" he whines, even though he knows _exactly_ why.

"Because I'm a _responsible SHIELD agent_ ," she huffs pathetically, then silences it and falls down over him again, snuggling against his chest. "It can wait."

He sighs and feels her arms hug around him as his chest rises, then falls.

"You're...very hairy," she says, making it sound almost scientific.

"So glad you noticed," he tells her, running his hand along her hair, then rubbing circles along her back.

She burrows her face, fingers exploring. Through his chest hair, then tracing the outline of the scar over his heart.

He used to think he had to accept its ugliness. But they met because of that scar. Just like the other broken parts of him are a roadmap he's still here with her.

His other hand is sitting on top of the nightstand right now, because she insisted.

She loves him.

And she doesn't care how he's changed. She still feels the same. From the moment they met.

Daisy talked. A _lot_ last night.

While he went down on her, and then when he was inside of her...he groans out loud, getting restless just thinking about it.

"What?" she asks, as he presses a kiss against her temple.

He fell asleep to the sound of her voice.

"Are you planning on getting up?" he asks, trying to get her to talk more, shifting so that they're facing each other. So she's in front of him, even in the dark.

"Not yet," she shakes her head, and then tucks it against his shoulder, breathes him in.

"We didn't talk much, last night," he jokes.

"I talked _so much_ ," she groans, like she's embarrassed about it now, the sound of her hand covering her face muffling her voice.

"I like it," he says encouragingly, pulling her hand away from her face, then finding his way to kiss along her wrist.

"I guess, I feel like I can breathe when I'm with you?" she admits, pushing him over onto his back again, and slipping a leg over him. "Like I don't have to be anything but this."

He's about to tell her that it means everything to him, that he can give her that.

But the sat phone buzzes again.

She sighs and runs her hands along his stomach, pausing her fingers there while she waits it out.

The small amount of light from the display screen illuminates her in this dilemma.

Then he picks up the phone, just as she starts to reach for it, and presses down to answer it.

"Hello?" he says, sounding so professional.

He watches her put her fingers to her mouth, smiling, as their eyes lock and he makes a professional face to match.  His bored bureaucrat face.

"You mean Agent Johnson? Yes, she is here. Of course she's fine."

She mouths "I'm fine" and then leans over him, running her lips over the shell of his ear.

"I don't think she wants to talk right now," he swallows. "Jeff."

He glances at her, and she shakes her head no in agreement, with an amused expression, then kisses her way down his neck, over his collarbone, moving lower as he raises his arm where his prosthetic would usually be out of her way.

"I think an 11 o'clock would be fine," he says, the pitch of his voice jumping as she slides her tongue along the dip of his hip joint, them following her mouth almost involuntarily.

"Yes, thank you," she says, sounding bored, then taps her fingers on his thigh to give him a warning. "Please hang up now."

"I'm hanging up now," he manages to breathe out.

He hangs up.


End file.
